


Sunflowers

by heartofstanding



Series: Sunflowers [1]
Category: The Hobbit
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Humour, M/M, Sunflowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2298116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To celebrate the reclamation of Erebor and nobody dying, Thranduil gifts Thorin with a sunflower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend who sent me [this photo as a prompt](http://media.tumblr.com/67c4d1fca6566a7ffd9edc7d48909f1a/tumblr_inline_mpnsfo2K7i1qz4rgp.png).

Thorin stares down to the pot in his hand and tries to work out just what Thranduil means by presenting it. It's a plant. In a pot. The pot is nice, if you're into all that Elvish natural decoration, which Thorin isn't. At all. Most of the time. But this, this is a pot, which has got all crawling vines carved on its teal-coloured glaze and it contains a—

'It's a sunflower,' Thranduil says, sounding undeniably amused.

'You bought me a _flower_.'

Is that an insult? Gloin would say it was, but then Gloin finds insult in most things, especially when it involves an Elf.

'Yes. It was that or a tree. I am an Elf, after all.'

'I think I would have preferred a tree.'

Thranduil looks dangerously close to smiling, which Thorin decides is very alarming. 'I suspected you would. You would order someone - your youngest nephew, most likely - to plant it outside, probably towards the back of the mountain, and then pretend it didn't exist except whenever someone - most likely me - would inquire about it.'

Thranduil knows him too well, which really isn't good. The word Thorin would use would be closer to 'appalling'.

'Right, well, no, I wouldn't, so you can take back this—'

Thranduil laughs. 'You were never taught that to refuse a gift is a grievous insult, were you?'

Thorin colours, because he _was_ , and he knows that his mother would be after him with a wooden spoon if she was there to hear him. He grits his teeth, and offers what feels like an agonising smile.

'Is it going to grow taller than me? Is that why you chose a sunflower, instead of something...' _more pretty_ '...more Elvish?'

'Ah, no,' Thranduil says, his brows raising once. For the first time, he looks uncomfortable. 'This particular breed of sunflower was bred to survive in a pot. It won't grow taller than your ankle, I can assure you. Legolas, my son, labelled it as a, a... _dwarf sensation_ sunflower.'

There's silence. Thorin stares at Thranduil, who looks back at Thorin evenly, adjusting his posture so he seems even more imperious and dignified.

'You approve of the name?'

'I care very little about the name. The workings of my son's mind are a mystery to me.'

'Right.' Thorin looks down at the pot, what he still holds cradled in his arms. 'Why a sunflower?'

'Why a sunflower?' Thranduil reaches out and tugs gently on a leaf with long, graceful fingers. Before Thorin's eyes, one flower begins to bloom, yellow petals unfurling in a way that reminds Thorin of the sun. 'Because in these dark halls, I thought you might need to remembered of the light and warmth of the sun.'

'Ah,' says Thorin, mouth and throat suddenly dry. 'Well.'

Thranduil smiles, and bows his head to brush a kiss against Thorin's lips. In his eyes, Thorin can see the light of the stars reflected, and he thinks, _the stars have made the dark beloved even to the Elves_. But Thranduil steps back, and turns away, his hair slipping to veil his face for one brief moment. The colour of it is gold, like the sun, but in these dark halls its light is dimmed.

'There is another reason,' Thranduil says, looking over his shoulder at Thorin, 'Mortal men believe the sunflower represents pride, and the pride of the dwarves - your pride especially - legendary.'

Before Thorin can think of a reply, Thranduil is gone, his hair just a far-off glint in the darkness.


End file.
